The Broken Shell
by girltogirl
Summary: Michelle sees Sasha alone in the dance studio at night, again.


Sasha couldn't remember the last time she'd been at Madam Fanny's dance studio, late at night, by herself, practicing her pirouettes, pliés, and other ballet moves. She supposed it was when the annoying underdog of Fanny caught her in the same situation, and had attempted to get her to talk about whatever was troubling the young girl.

Sasha didn't want to talk, especially to someone she thought - at the time - was so incredibly annoying and irritating.

There had, however, been a small part of her that'd hoped Michelle would see right through her facade, when the older woman asked if she was okay, and... and what? Comfort her? Michelle Sims did not seem like comforting type. In fact, she reminded Sasha of herself, if only a little.

So, as badly as she wanted to pour her heart and soul out to Michelle, or _anyone, _she lashed out instead.

It was the only way, she believed, that she could get people to react. It made her feel in control of something, of someone, of herself. She could inflict the pain she felt every day on others, to make them feel the hurt she felt. The frustration she felt building up inside her, that no one understood her, caused the anger bubbling underneath her to surface. She was constantly angry, barking and snapping at everyone she made eye contact with.

It was no wonder people - especially her so-called friends - began slowly pulling away from her.

She was a shell of her former self; a shell of what, and who, she used to be.

She hadn't cried in months. She hadn't shed a single tear in almost two years. Which was why it felt weird, sitting in the middle on the wooden floor of the ballet studio that she'd grown up in, sobs escaping her throat, and tears trekking down from her soft, brown eyes to her flushed cheeks.

It felt weird to be letting her guard down like that; she hadn't done it in so long, that her instant vulnerability and paranoia at being caught for being weak kicked in.

She'd been like that for a few hours; rocking back and forth with her knees close to her chest, and her arms wrapped around them, with her head buried. The sky had gotten pitch-black at this point, which she didn't notice, nor did she see a thirty-six-year-old woman who suddenly peered into the room.

Sasha's sobs were loud enough, they blocked out the sound of a door opening and closing, and murmur of her name.

Michelle realized Sasha couldn't hear her. "Sasha!" she said, a little louder.

Sasha nearly jumped out of her sitting position, surprised, and lifted her head towards Michelle. Bleary eyes met dark, brown ones.

"Oh...Michelle," Sasha said, sniffling. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

Michelle looked at her, worriedly. Hesitantly, she moved closer to the younger woman.

"Is everything okay?" Then she frowned. "Dumb question."

Sasha barely smiled, and didn't reply. She didn't really know how to feel at the moment. On one hand, she was slightly relieved that someone finally noticed she was hurting, and in a lot of pain. On the other hand, she was annoyed and worried, because she didn't _want _anyone to see her like the wreck that she truly was.

Michelle had nothing but genuine concern in her eyes, and it let Sasha's guard down a little bit.

"Problems at home," she barely whispered, avoid the worried gaze of the older woman. She picked at her nails, a sign of how uncomfortable she was.

"Problems? That seems like an understatement."

Sasha felt her face heat up. Seriously, she wasn't used to this; someone concerned about her. It made her feel a little awkward, embarrassed, and...comforted?

She swallowed, and stood up. "I should get back," she said, her voice hoarse.

"Sasha..."

Sasha hesitated, and glanced back down at Michelle. "Please don't tell anyone about this," she said, quietly. "I have a reputation to protect, you know."

Michelle could see the pain, loneliness, and frustration in the girl's eyes, as well as hint of longing. She stood up, and gently grabbed one of Sasha's long, thin arms.

"Hey," Michelle said, softly.

"Let me go," the ballet student muttered, trying to tug her arm free. Michelle noticed it wasn't even a half-hearted attempt.

"I don't think you want to go home. I think you want to stay here and tell me what's wrong."

Sasha turned and faced her, scorn showing all over her face. "You don't know anything about me, old lady," she spat.

_Ah, there it is, _Michelle thought, sadly. "Why can't you let someone in, for once?" she demanded, her tone harsher than she intended.

"Why can't you mind your own business?" Sasha replied, angrily.

"Because I care about you, and I worry about you," Michelle said, calmly and clearly.

Time froze. Sasha stopped struggling, and glanced at the taller brunette. No one had ever, ever said that to her. Not in a very long time, anyway. If she was honest with herself, she would notice that she relaxed almost instantly, and her anger faded, to be replaced with a slight warmth in her chest.

"Why?" she asked, sounding a little hopeful.

Michelle felt a sharp jab in her stomach. Did Sasha really think that people didn't care about her?

"Sasha, tell me what's wrong," she said, instead of answering the question. And that was when Sasha broke down, crying again.

Uncertain of what to do, Michelle hesitantly wrapped her arms around the skinny ballet student.

"Hey, hey. It's okay," she murmured, feeling slightly awkward. It wasn't her thing, really. The mothering role was set for Boo's mom, or maybe even Fanny, but Michelle had never felt comfortable holding a crying child, and telling them comforting words. It just wasn't her. Maybe she was only trying to help the girl was the fact that Sasha reminded her of herself when she was sixteen.

"M-my parents," Sasha said, choking on tears, "got in another f-fight. But it was worst than most."

"How so?" Michelle asked. Sasha shook her head, refusing to reply. The taller brunette glanced around, and saw two chairs. "Here, let's go sit."

When they had sat down, Michelle glanced at the young girl, waiting patiently. She noticed Sasha's hands fidgeting nervously.

"My Mom has always been drunk, for the past few years, anyway," she began. "But lately, her drinking's gotten really bad; to the point where she can get..." she broke off, hesitating, her head ducked. Tears started falling down her face again.

Michelle rubbed her back in circles, which calmed the girl down, a little. "Does she...does she...hurt you or your dad?"

"She hasn't touched me," Sasha whispered. "But, tonight, I came home, and my parents were arguing, as usual. Well, my mom was slurring, 'cause, you know. I reached the stairs to go up to my room, when I saw her...h-hit m-my dad."

Instant sympathy and anger flooded through Michelle. She sympathized for Sasha, of course, and she was angry that Sasha's mom would do something like that, especially in front of her child.

"Did she notice you were standing right there?" she asked, the anger evident in her voice.

Sasha looked sad. "She doesn't notice much of me, anymore. Neither of my parents do."

_Poor kid, _Michelle thought. She didn't deserve this. No one did.

"Sometimes she says things to me, though."

"What "kind of things" does she say?"

"She...she calls me a bitch, a cunt, a failure, a disappointment," Sasha choked out. "I'm n-not good enough to be her daughter - she said that to me a few times."

Michelle looked genuinely shocked. "Is that why you bailed on Fanny's class?"

Sasha shrugged. "I-I don't know," she mumbled. "Maybe."

"Sasha..."

Sasha didn't really feel like talking anymore. She stood up, again, and started heading towards the door. "I really have to go."

"Wait," Michelle called out.

Sasha hesitated. This time, Michelle didn't hesitate or think first, she just walked up and wrapped her arms around the shorter brunette, holding her close. She rocked the girl back and forth, and rubbed her back. She didn't say anything, but she knew she didn't have to; Sasha's new outburst of sobs were subsiding, and she began to quiet down. After a while, Sasha pulled away from Michelle's embrace and looked at her.

"Thanks," she whispered. "No one's held me like that in...in a long time."

Michelle looked at her, seriously. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you. Don't beat Fanny's ass down, anymore, kid."

Sasha almost smiled because Michelle was starting to act and sound like herself again. Then she frowned.

"Does this mean I have to apologize to Madam Fanny?"

"Oh-ho, yes."

.

.

"Fanny!" Michelle called out, entering the main house.

Fanny rolled her eyes. So much for her hoped-for, quiet Saturday evening of watching the game on the television.

"What is it?" she barked out in her scratchy voice. "And what took you so long? It took you over an hour to get the drinks I requested."

"Sorry," Michelle said, not sounding sorry at all. "And I come bearing one of your pupils."

Fanny frowned. Michelle talked so weird. "Oh, really? Who?"

"Your rebel, punk girl."

And there was Sasha, standing next to Michelle.

"Sasha? What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize, Madam Fanny. I was out of line the other day," Sasha said in her soft-spoken voice.

"Hmph," Fanny snorted. "What took you so long? I was getting depressed watching all of those wanna-bes looking more like monkeys with sticks shoved up there asses."

"So..so I can still be Claire?" Sasha asked, smiling slightly. Her hands fidgeted nervously.

"You don't need to act so surprised," the old woman rasped dryly.

Sasha gave a little squeal of excitement, and bounced on her toes, slightly. For the first time in a long time, Sasha felt just a little bit better.


End file.
